Rest My Head
by dollishdragxx
Summary: Mary Jane and Peter have always been neighbors, but regularly ignore one another day to day. As Mary Jane begins to notice Peter and Peter becomes Mary Jane's savior, an unexpected romance brews as Peter is right on the cusp of becoming a hero. Rated M for future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: **I own nothing of Spider-man.

**AUTHORS NOTE: **This is meant to be set in The Amazing Spider-man movie!verse, right after Uncle Ben passes and Peter has yet to become the actual spider-man, just searching for Uncle Ben's killer.

* * *

There is a crashing noise from next door. It sounds like glass shattering against something solid, like the cement sidewalk that consequently connects Peter Parker's house with Mary Jane Watson's. Curious, awkward Peter peaks out the window, pushing his glasses back on the bridge of his nose, because they'd been mindlessly settled between his lips while he chewed on the center. Sure enough, there he is, standing in an array of brown shards. Mary Jane's father, swerving with poor aim in his continuous drunken state, attempting to hobble to his front door without much success. Peter watches, hoping he forgot his keys again so he will pass out on the front porch and sleep off the height of his inebriation. Peter doesn't want him to go inside. Not that her father is much better in his sober state, but at least her body won't be marked up the next day at school and Peter won't have to awkwardly duck his head, pretending he doesn't know how she got them.

Because the one time he tried to care, starting a concerned conversation about the purple swelling around her emerald green eyes, Mary Jane snapped at him.

"_What the hell do you know about it, huh, Parker? Mind your own damn business."_

Her dad is now crawling up the porch steps like a slug busting a grape for his destination, and he's patting the back of his jeans. _Please don't be there_, Peter is internally begging, stepping even closer to the window pane so he can see better. _Please don't have your keys_. Mary Jane's father sinks to the ground. He slumps over in a stained, crumpled pile, and curls like a stray dog on the welcome mat.

The tension in Peter's shoulders release as he takes a deep breath, satisfied. Good.

Honestly, he has no good reason to care for the spunky, hot headed ginger next door. They've shared about four sentences and a few glances, but their paths are separate and solitary. She's barely an acquaintance; she's just the ambiguous girl next door. Regardless of Peter's lack of connection, no one deserves the kind of trashing she receives daily, or the eavesdropped speeches Peter has encountered. They all focus on what an unwanted, disgusting failure her father believes Mary Jane to be.

She tries to be – something else. Peter sees how she tries to make herself smaller, tougher, blended. Mary Jane is one of the few girls with clean, un-powdered and un-blushed faces, hiding in her oversized band tees and torn up jeans that flatten the curves in her hips. She is beautiful, too beautiful to tone down properly, Peter notes matter-of-fact, and if she lets it show, her father calls her a slut. If she hides it, she's a little boy. Peter notices that, inevitably, Mary Jane never wins the game her father plays. And it's sad.

Aunt May does her best, without Uncle Ben to take action. At first, the cops were called, but obviously they'd been useless. There had been no end to the violence next door, and Mary Jane had not been clasped away from his grip. When that failed, Aunt May she tried to be personable; inviting Mary Jane to dinner, having casual yard-to-yard conversation, and asking Peter to befriend her or at the very least walk with her to and from school. But Mary Jane declined the dinner offer, barely spent time at home except for evenings (Peter assumed she received bruises for violating some kind of curfew), and the one time Peter materialized enough confidence to ask her to walk with him, a mohawk-ed and tattoed guy with facial piercings picked her up in a fuming, tattered mustang a block away. So instead, Aunt May leaves groceries, foiled over dishes, or nice t-shirt or two.

They're always gone in the mornings when Mary Jane wakes up for school. Some days Peter notices the same fabric on Mary Jane's body that he's seen Aunt May purchase, and he feels okay because at least they're doing _something_ to help.

Peter is about to go back to listening to the police broadcasts on his fuzzy radio, when he sees that flaming red out of the corner of his eye. She's looking out her window too, but instead of ignoring him like she always does, she's looking next door, right into Peter's room. Right into his eyes. She has this look on her face. Curiosity? Wonder? Peter can't put his finger on it, but it's almost as if... Mary Jane is seeing him for the first time. As if _she _isn't the ambiguous next-door-neighbor - Peter is.

He's about to raise his hand and awkwardly wave or something sheepish, almost to say, 'I swear I'm not creeping on you', but she holds up her hand instead.

Dangling from her fingers is a set of keys. Somehow, from the precarious energy between them, Peter knew they had to be her fathers.

She knew. She'd been watching. Mary Jane had been watching Peter watch her father and react, down to the relief in his expression about the fact that her father would be snoring on their porch tonight.

Which meant...

Mary Jane Watson knew that Peter Parker cared.


	2. Chapter 2

The final bell has rung. Peter is fumbling with the combination to his locker while juggling four books in one arm and a skateboard in the other, when Mary Jane approaches him. She startles him a little, and retaliating he grabs the knob with a little more pressure than he should. Great. His freakish spider fingers are stuck, and the initial pull away gives no result. Clearing his throat and shifting awkwardly, he leans against his locker to hide his glued hand and looks at Mary Jane. This is... strange. She's never approached him at school before. Honestly, Mary Jane has never approached him, ever. It would be just like aloof, backwards Peter Parker to have his arms full and hand stuck to a freaking locker.

"Hi, Mary Jane," He offers, shrugging a little to say 'what gives?'. Casual.

"MJ," She says a bit harshly, but then back tracks with a softer expression. "Call me MJ, Parker."

Peter nods, pretending to be teetering on each leg to cover up the fact that he's desperately trying to wrench his hand free from the combination knob. "MJ. Mary Jane is prettier, though." He offhandedly adds, watching the small strawberry circles blushing on her ivory skin.

"Thanks, I guess." She smiles at him, picking at the frays at the ends of her jeans jacket. She's a nice girl, underneath the rough and intimidating exterior. Peter thinks that maybe, if there had ever been someone to care for her, she'd be all sweet and nothing spice.

He had to admit, though, he finds her spice anything but boring.

Peter waits for her to say something, praising the high heavens when his sticky fingers finally wrench free without taking the whole locker door with him. Crisis averted.

MJ tucks a fire red strand of hair behind her pierced ear; Peter notices she has two holes in them. She's wearing stars in one hole and moons in the second. "So um, would you maybe want to... walk... home with me?"

Did he hear her right? Had Peter missed something? Since when did Mary Jane Watson have interest in _walking home _with Peter Parker? Since when did she have any kind of interest in Peter Parker at all?

He's about to open his mouth to respond, at least say something, but then Gwen Stacy is flanking the other side of him. She doesn't seem to notice Mary Jane at all – In fact, she's prattling on about their chemistry exam and mindlessly putting in the combination to Peter's locker to help him out, like she does nearly every day now. Peter glances over at Gwen as she takes the books out from under his left arm and neatly stacks them inside his locker. Peter isn't hearing anything she's saying to him.

"Peter, did you hear me? Do you want to come over for dinner?" Gwen is asking, shutting his locker and seizing him up. She always has that patient, quieted tone now. Ever since Uncle Ben...

"Well, M-" Peter turns around to motion at her, but MJ is gone, taking long strides out of the double doors.

* * *

After dinner at the Stacy's, Peter spends his night on the streets. _Blond hair, star tattoo. Blond hair, star tattoo. _It's a mantra now, the reason he pulls the ski mask over his face every evening and keeps a police frequency radio buzzing in his ear. There are two more failures, two more criminals that he _wasn't _looking for, and his 'personal vendetta' ends for the night. Thankfully, his face isn't bad enough to startle Aunt May more than usual. When he tip toes quietly into the house, he sees her sleeping on the couch with the tv on mute, so he relaxes a little. She hasn't been sleeping; Peter is thankful for the days it catches her. He grabs the quilt off the back of the couch, and covers Aunt May with it, placing a small kiss on the wrinkled forehead that Peter forces more wrinkles on every time he's out for the night.

He sighs, walking up the stairs to his bedroom and flinging his back pack in the corner. After a quick shower, Peter grabs his chemistry book and slides out his window to the rooftop, attempting to overlook what lessons he hasn't been paying attention in. Not that he's worried about their exam; Peter has never gotten anything less than an A, except maybe for his F in attendance. He has just settled with his feet dangling over the edge, when he hears her creaky window slide open.

"Hey, Parker." She greets him, resting her elbows on the seal. Her red hair is damp from a shower, Peter would guess, and she's wearing a tank top that is noticeably see through. She has nothing but underwear on her lower half - long, lithe legs exposed. Peter looks away awkwardly.

"Hey Mary Ja- MJ." He tries not to look at her and focuses instead on the words in his chemistry book. Had it turned into Latin? Peter keeps reading the same sentence over and over.

"What're you doing?"

"I'm... Well. I'm trying to... Study – For. Chemistry," Peter steals glances at her, regrets it, then repeats as he tries to focus on his book. Could she put some clothes on for God's sake? She's usually careful about this kind of thing. Only once had Peter seen her indecent from all the years they'd been neighbors, and she'd been in a towel so it wasn't a big deal – Just forgetting to close the curtains when she got out of a shower. He'd never seen more of her body than she'd wanted to reveal, and right now he was particularly stuck on the swell of her perky breasts underneath the barely existing white tank top.

It's like she notices the area his eyes keep drifting to when he's _trying _not to look, because she arches her back and shoves her chest out with a tiny mischievous smirk on her face.

What is she doing?

So he asks. "What are you doing?" He means this question to be geared towards her half naked body, but his tone sounds wrong. He sounds more friendly than confused. Peter doesn't know how to be inquisitive. Not in normal social settings.

"I'm running lines. I'm trying out for Sandy," She holds up something that looks like a little pamphlet.

"Sandy?..." Peter trails off, oblivious.

MJ rolls her eyes in a playful kind of way, pointing at the title. _Grease. _"The school play. I want to play Sandy."

Peter nods while he stares at his suspended feet, determined not to look at her again. He's very quiet, and more anti social than normal because of how revealed her body is.

Mary Jane seems to pick up his off-putting, and says, "Well, good luck with chem. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah, see you," Peter mumbles, nodding his head while he continues not to look at her.

"Hey, Peter?"

Peter looks over at her now, dark eyebrows furrowed in question. He's looking at her eyes, a gleam of _something_ reflecting in the moonlight.

"Yeah?"

She nods towards him, mouth twisting in worry. "Who does that to you? Your face, I mean." Peter is quiet for a beat, but Mary Jane doesn't really wait on him to respond anyway. Instead she slowly closes her window and clicks off the light to her bedroom.

It was then that Peter knew that Mary Jane Watson cared.


	3. Chapter 3

**AUTHORS NOTE: **Wow, thank you guys so much for the reviews! I honestly didn't think anyone would read this, let alone like it! It's been a bit since I've updated, but I'll try and keep up with it more now that I'm easing into my new job. But really, thank you guys so much. I hope you enjoy!

**TRIGGER WARNING: _CHILD ABUSE. PLEASE BE WARNED._**

* * *

It's been a few days of silence from both Peter and Mary Jane, almost as if what happened had been some eerie dream. But on a Friday, it strikes up again, like a match and its partnering spark. It's late. Peter isn't quite sure just how late, but late enough for the obscene screaming to commence, in a way that vibrates the thin walls separating Peter's house from MJ's. He's laying on his back in the center of his plaid comforter, staring at the panels in the dark ceiling while he regrettably listens. _Worthless... Useless... Disgusting... Fucking bitch. _Peter closes his eyes as he releases a heavy, troubled sigh, hands clenching into the iron fists that he wishes he could slam into the bridge of MJ's father's crooked crow nose. Would it be obvious it were him if he pulled on his ski mask and burst in unannounced? He's seriously debating it when he hears the loud thump and a muffled scream.

She's been hit. He knows she has. He doesn't think. Peter springs up in his bed and is just about to dash out of his room and next door with a thrashing purpose, when he sees her sprint into her bedroom, running from him. MJ flings her door shut and bolts it behind her, just before Peter hears her father collide with the other side. Her window is half open, and he can hear his threats more clearly.

"_When I break down this door, I will break your fucking arms, MARY JANE!" _

Peter goes to his open window, and she sees him there. She's bleeding from her nose and a small slit in her lip, and at the sight of it, something intense happens to Peter. The overwhelming fury that boils in his gut is something he's not used to feeling apart from his revenge for Uncle Ben's murderer. It's channeling so quickly to MJ's father that it shocks him, winded by his rage. He feels it, he realizes it; Peter wants to hurt him. He wants to hurt him for every single time he's so much as _looked _at her the wrong way.

The words come out of him before he knows what he's saying. "Come here," Peter calls out to her, stretching an arm out his window. Her father is beating so brashly onto her door that Peter almost believes he _will _break it down.

MJ tentatively steps towards her window, her shoulders shaking in fear.

"Come on, MJ," Peter softly coaxes her, reaching his hand further.

She pushes her window up all the way, and shakes her head at him. "I can't reach." The townhouses are built so close, but not close enough. She stretches out her hand, and there's a painful amount of distance between them.

The thrashing on her door gets louder, and Peter hears wood split. Now, it is dire. "Hold on!" Peter calls to her, quickly dashing to his closet. The Oscorp cable cord he's been working with is hidden in a box, laying with his sneakers. He grabs a long, wound line, and runs back to his window with one side wrapped around his hand.

"Catch," He says to her, as he throws the other end to her window. MJ catches it against the window seal, and looks at it like a life line. Right now, it is.

"MJ, tie it around your waist. Hurry," Peter urges, looking desperately at her nearly beaten in bedroom door. She quickly complies, fumbling with a messy knot near her navel, and holds the rope.

"Window seal. Jump." Peter instructs, winding the other end tightly around his wrists.

She looks at him, frightened. "You'll drop me."

"No, I wont."

"The cord will snap."

"No, it won't. I promise you, Mary Jane. Trust me," Peter is desperately trying to help her make the plunge, growing more nervous with the splintering of her door.

"_MARY JANE, I WILL BEAT YOUR FUCKING ASS BLOODY! DO YOU HEAR ME?!" _

"Come on, Mary Jane. Please," Peter looks at her with his gentle, protective brown eyes, nodding in a way that says, 'I've got you'.

She takes a deep breath, closes her emerald irises, and bravely leaps from her window to Peter's. He's wound the wire as she jumps, drawing her to his arms as her legs hit the side of the house in a small thump. But he's got her. She's okay. MJ lets out a small noise of relief as Peter hoists her up through his window and into the safety of his bedroom.

When she's able to stand on her feet, Peter closes his window just before Mary Jane's bedroom next door bursts open. Peter closes his curtains to hide them away, as if she'd simply performed a magic trick and disappeared.

Together, they flinch at the muffled scream. "_MARY JANE!" _

They wait, standing in the darkness of Peter's bedroom and staying so quiet, playing hide and seek; like her father won't find them they if they don't make a sound. He continues to wail for a few minutes and Peter and MJ hear things break as he looks for her in, what they imagine to be, every crevice of her bedroom. Eventually, the sounds stop. Eventually, he either gives up, or passes out in his drunken stupor. Peter finally exhales, able to take in the sight of Mary Jane, standing beside him. She's shadowed, but a small fraction of light from the moon is seeping in through his curtains, so he can see the blood. Peter raises his hand to touch her face, and she flinches away from him.

"I don't need you. You didn't have to... I don't need you." She's trying to be tough, the unbroken Mary Jane Watson, but Peter hears the edge of hysteria bubbling under her words.

"I'm... Sorry. I just wanted to - I- I'm sorry." Peter tries to offer her, wanting so badly to be able to examine the damage of her face and clean her up. He's too afraid to try to touch her again.

She looks up at him with her impossibly green eyes, and he sees that they're filled with nickle sized tears. She's trying not to cry, arms folded against herself as if she's trying to hold it all in.

"Mary Jane?" Peter gently says, thick eyebrows furrowing together in worry. What can he do?

He's surprised when a small laugh escapes her mouth while a tear laps down from her lashes. She says, "How many times do I have to tell you that it's MJ?"

Peter tries to smile just a little. "MJ."

And then she doesn't hold it in. She collapses into Peter's arms, and begins to cry, burying her red head into his chest. It's not the quiet kind of crying, it's the crying that comes when you've waited incredibly too long to cry, and Peter is so taken aback by it. He's only ever consoled Aunt May, and even then he'd been horrible at it. He's not sure what to do, but Peter knows this; Mary Jane trusts him. She trusts him with this part of her, the part that is so much like Pandora's box. The part of her that is forbidden, and sacred.

It takes him a few seconds to recover and retaliate, but he does - wrapping his arms around her securely. She's so small against him, he's engulfed her. They stand like this for a long time, until all of Mary Jane's weight is against him. From the way she is avoiding pressure on one leg, Peter assumes she might have twisted an ankle running from her father. Her knees give out, and Peter slings an arm under the back of her legs, cradling her to his chest. She doesn't fight him like he expects her to; every guard he's ever seen her bear is stripped away in this moment. She's open to him, because in a small way tonight, Peter saved her life.

As her crying slows and her body grows limp, Peter carries her to his bed and lays her down, covering her with his comforter. He takes a throw blanket from his chair and one of the pillows from his bed, making camp on the floor. As Peter lays down on his side, he watches while Mary Jane drifts into a deep sleep. It's uncomfortable here, but it's worth it.

Especially when, in her sleep, she mumbles softly, "Peter... Thank you."


End file.
